BATMAN: NEXIUM
by BessarionLLC
Summary: Bruce Wayne travels the world in 1965 running Wayne Enterprises.


BATMAN: NEXIUM

I) THE TAILOR'S SHOP

"I'll try any tailor once," Bruce Wayne said as he stood in the large drawing room of the tailor's shop. At the age of twenty-six the young American had already studied economics at Princeton, war at Cambridge and sex at the Sorbonne. The tailor, a small round man wearing a charcoal grey double-breasted suit, made some precise gestures with his measuring tape across Bruce's broad shoulders. The curtains were pulled back from the windows and daylight streamed into the room. A rack of colourful ties stood in front of a wood panelled wall.

"First time in London, sir?" the tailor asked as he looked at Bruce in the three panel full length mirror.

"Oh no, spent some time at school here, up north in Fen Ditton. Back for business," Bruce said.

"Ah yes, Wayne Enterprises. It says so on your card," the tailor said.

"Selling an oil tanker to a desert sheik," Bruce said. "Damn thing almost got sunk during the war. Spitfire landed on it in the middle of the English Channel."

"With a history like that it should fetch a premium, sir," the tailor said good-naturedly as he walked over to a long mahogany table. Laying across it were large rolls of rich blue fabric and a leather bound book. The tailor slipped a hand inside his jacket and withdrew Bruce's business card and a stubby pencil. He opened the book in the middle, jotted down some numbers, placed the card between the pages and shut the book closed.

"Would you like to choose your fabric, sir?" the tailor asked.

"Oh, whatever's popular. You go ahead. How big you cutting the lapels these days?" Bruce said.

"Thinner is the fashion on Savile Row," the tailor replied. "It is 1965, after all. You'll see the same trend on your side of the Atlantic in Gotham City."

Bruce walked across the drawing room to the French windows and surveyed the courtyard. There were no leaves on the trees and he watched birds balance on the branches.

"Sheik Faisal Al Saud," Bruce said. "Ever heard of him?"

"While I read the paper, sir, I can't say I've ever come across the name," the tailor replied.

"He's the fellow that's going to buy my oil tanker. We're meeting in an hour at The Ritz Hotel. Apparently he's pitched a bedouin tent in The Royal Suite. He believes that we are all an extension of countless other lives and experience them as real and immediate as our own." Bruce turned around with his hands in his pockets. "Can't help but wonder," he said, "what even living two lives would be like."

II) HUMBLE MAN

Leaving the tailor's shop Bruce Wayne saw the car and driver from the hotel waiting for him. He was tempted to ignore it and walk in the other direction. He enjoyed his anonymity in London. Back home in Gotham he was constantly being surprised. Taking the elevator down from the penthouse of Wayne Enterprises the doors would open to cameras flashing. Reporters waited outside the revolving doors of his building with pencils and notepads ready. They asked for comments on the bond market and if the inverted yield curve signalled a recession and was Wayne Research Institute going to hire Richard Feynman who had just won the Nobel Prize in Physics. The professor had once told Bruce at a dinner party that physics was like sex.

"Sure, it may give you some practical results," Feynman said, "but that's not why we do it."

As Bruce walked to the rear of the black Pullman limousine he was stopped by a man who asked him for a job.

"Mr. Wayne," the humble man said. There were patches on the elbows of his suit jacket and the bottom of his shoe had become unstuck at the heel. "Wayne Medical is developing its next prescription drug, Nexium. I'd like to work for you on the project."

His butler Alfred Pennyworth, a skinny elderly Englishman wearing a black tuxedo, stood holding the door of the limousine open.

"Right, um, where did you work last?" Bruce asked.

"It's been a few months. Lost my money in the markets," the humble man said.

Bruce started searching his coat pockets and turned to Alfred. "Hand me some money, would you?" Bruce said. Alfred produced a bankroll from his jacket pocket and handed it to Bruce who gave it to the humble man.

"Give Alfred here your details and we'll have someone reach out," Bruce said.

"Oh thank you sir, thank you," the humble man said as Bruce dove into the back of the limousine.

In Mayfair now he could walk uninterrupted. The cold London fog did not deter him and after a while the Bentley Continental drove up alongside him and he got inside.

III) HUNT IN THE AIR

When Bruce Wayne entered the Dining Room of the Ritz London he found it quite empty. Twelve dinner tables with white tablecloths set with china and sparkling silverware sat abandoned in the middle of the room. He heard a low murmur and spotted a group of men huddled together at the back of the restaurant. Their heads were wrapped in white keffiyehs and in the centre of the group was an older man wearing a gold-trimmed black robe. One of the men broke away to greet Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne," the man said. "His Highness has been waiting. Let me introduce you."

Chandeliers bobbed from a ceiling painted with a mural of pink clouds hovering against a baby blue sky. The sheik looked up at Bruce and offered his hand.

"You're alone, Mr. Wayne?" the sheik asked.

"Just me today, Your Highness," Bruce said smiling as they shook hands.

"I hear we are having canard à la rouennaise for lunch," the sheik said. "Like Escoffier would have made it. We come to England to eat French food."

"Very good, Your Highness," Bruce laughed.

"We were just discussing our latest hunting party. My nephew is fond of falconry," the sheik said. "Have you ever seen a hunt in the air?"

"I haven't, no. Closest I get is shooting clay pigeons at my parents' house."

"There is nothing like watching a falcon walk its claws across the back of a bird in the middle of the sky and then pull it back down to earth," the sheik said.

"You know," Bruce remarked, "there are a lot of bats in Gotham City."

The sheik motioned for them to sit down at a table. His men followed.

"This ship of yours," the sheik said. "It has a good tonnage and a single deck. We are assembling a fleet of them. There will be so many you will be able to walk across the ocean by jumping from hull to hull."

"What a great ambition, Your Highness," Bruce said.

"Now, of course, we should like to inspect the vessel prior to purchase," the sheik said.

"Of course," Bruce said. "Ship is in excellent condition. Made it through the war without getting a scratch on it."

The sound of carts clattering with dishes of hot food interrupted them as waiters approached their table.

"Do you know the story of the Dinner of the Three Emperors?" the sheik asked as they were being served.

"You mean about the King of Prussia?" Bruce said. "He requested a meal to be remembered. How many courses was it? Sixteen? Over eight hours they sat there, him and the Tsar of Russia and the German Chancellor."

The sheik grinned. "Patience and appetite," he said. "Very important to run a successful business."

Another group of the sheik's men arrived and sat at the table next to them. They continued talking loudly and began gesturing in each other's faces as their food was being served.

"Your justice system is quite interesting, Your Highness," Bruce remarked.

"Oh yes?" the sheik said.

"Leniency is being sought by the courts in America. They say that the death penalty could be unconstitutional. No more capital punishment. But your kingdom is governed by Shari'ah Law."

"No man can challenge the Prophet Mohammed's laws as they are written in the Qu'ran."

"Some might call your punishments brutal. I like how they happen in public. And they are very painful. I have to say I am impressed by your methods. How else can evil be defeated if not by a more powerful force?"

"I did not know the Americans were considering ending their death penalty. How to enforce law and order if a citizen can kill but the judiciary cannot?"

"My point exactly, Your Highness. Justice is being threatened like never before," Bruce said.

The sheikh's coterie ate and drank and laughed with pleasure. After the waiters cleared their table hot tea was served. One of the sheik's men leaned over.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Your Highness," he said, "but the gentleman from Bennett gas pump has arrived."

"I think the time difference is catching up with me," Bruce said as he folded his napkin on the table. "Think I'll head upstairs to my room."

"Perhaps you will join us later this evening? We are staying in The Royal Suite. A group of actors from the Old Vic are coming to perform for us."

Bruce thanked the sheik and said he would visit later. He was curious to find out if the rumour about the bedouin tent was true. He shook everyone's hand and bade the sheik and his entourage farewell.

IV) MELTING ICE

A quiet knock at the door of Bruce's hotel room woke him. He tied his dressing gown and met a vision when he opened the door. The young woman's straight red hair slid down a long white neck which was rosied from being kissed all over. Her emerald eyes shone when she saw him and her smile was slow and she wore a dark green blouse that could not contain her large bosom.

"Please come in," Bruce said.

She walked past a table with silver candlesticks and champagne on ice and brushed the couch with her thigh as she passed it. She stopped in front of the bed and turned around to face him.

"My name is Selina. It's nice to meet you, Mr…."

"Bruce. Would you like some champagne?" He pulled the cold bottle dripping with melting ice from a silver bucket and poured two glasses. Selina took a delicate sip of hers while Bruce swallowed his in one gulp.

"Been in London long?" Bruce asked commenting on her Irish accent.

"I'm back and forth between Paris. Spending time in fine hotels isn't the worst way to pass the days," Selina said looking down at the Chanel purse in her hands.

"I find myself in hotels even when I'm back home," Bruce said.

"I see. Then shall we… first?" Selina asked.

Bruce walked over to the chair he had thrown his trousers over and rummaged through the pants pockets. "I'm sure I've got some notes in here," he thought out loud. The pockets were empty and he looked around for his suit jacket. Selina watched him with amusement as he stalked between the high ceilinged rooms of the suite mumbling to himself and stumbling over his suitcase trunks. He found his suit jacket hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Bruce walked out of the ensuite holding a roll of banknotes and then started looking around for a place to put it.

"On the table is fine," Selina said and she laid her long purse on top of it. She walked up to him and let him run his hands through her hair and breathe her in before she undid his dressing gown. Afterwards with the bedsheets pooled around them in the king size bed he asked her if she would like to join him at an auction.

"Fellow I know is intent on buying a Rembrandt at Christie's tonight," Bruce said. "It's just around the corner. Like to join me?"

"A what at Christie's?" Selina said.

"Painting. Old painting. Of a kid," Bruce answered. "This fella I know, he's from Beverly Hills. In Los Angeles. Hollywood."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Made his fortune in canned food. Damndest thing. He's planning on spending vaults of money on that painting tonight."

"Do you like art?"

"My father used to collect it. We had all kinds of antiques and things at our house."

"My mother loved to knit," Selina said. "She would frame her embroideries and hang them on the wall."

Bruce got out of bed and pulled his pants on. It was only then that Selina noticed the scratches on his back. His hands had been smooth and strong and she had enjoyed being with him.

"I'm not expected anywhere," Selina said. "If it's close by we can walk."

"Just what I was thinking," Bruce said smiling.

V) BIDDING FOR TITUS AT CHRISTIE'S

"Oh look, dear," Norton Simon's wife said. "It's Bruce Wayne. Such a generous man."

"He's been a philanthropist since he was 20," Norton mocked. "Giving away other people's money."

"Oh dear," his wife said.

The high ceilinged auction hall of Christie's was hot and loud. A hundred people sat shoulder to shoulder in chairs a dozen rows deep. Bidding was about to begin and there was standing room only. A film crew from the BBC huddled against the wall next to reporters from the wire service.

Norton had just received a telegram from his principle dealer in Gotham City, Joseph Duveen, confirming the purchase of a two hundred year old Fragonard painting. The picture was of a young man holding a white dove as he reclined in the lap of a young maiden who dangled a small cage above his head. Norton and his wife had arrived in London yesterday to make his largest acquisition yet, a three hundred year old portrait by Rembrandt of his son Titus. The canvas had been hastily put up for sale by Lady Cook, who wanted to avoid a new capital-gains tax that was to take effect later that month.

Since this was an auction Norton needed to guarantee the winning bid. On the flight from Los Angeles he had devised a unique set of bidding signals. When he landed he met with the owners of the auction house who agreed to his terms in writing. The folded contract inside his coat read: "Friday March 19th. Rembrandt. Lot 105. Portrait of Titus. When Mr. Simon is sitting down he is bidding. If he bids openly when sitting down he is also bidding. When he stands up he has stopped bidding. If he then sits down again he is not bidding until he raises his finger. Having raised his finger he is continuing to bid until he stands up again." Norton patted his chest pocket to make sure the paper was still there.

"He's a damn playboy," Norton continued. "When I was his age I had already bought my second company."

"Yes, dear," his wife said as she arranged a pair of elbow-length white gloves in her lap.

"Wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. He's probably spending all of his time at Wembley consorting with football hooligans."

"His company has offices here, near St. Paul's I think. What? Don't look at me that way Norton. It was in the newspaper."

Bruce Wayne scanned the crowd and recognized Norton Simon sitting inconspicuously in the back with his plain wife. He waded through the rows of people.

"Norton!" he shouted above the crowd, reaching over to clap him on the back. "How you doing old fellow?"

"Bruce Wayne!" Norton exclaimed, jumping out of his chair to shake Bruce's hand excitedly. "Great to see you here tonight. Enjoying London?"

"Always," Bruce smiled. "Staying around the corner."

"Just like your father. He was friends with César Ritz and stayed in his hotels wherever he travelled," Norton said.

"Got your eyes on the big one tonight?" Bruce asked.

"I've almost bought this Rembrandt twice," Norton said. "Didn't think I'd end up bidding for it in public. Might just show them a thing or two and set a record with the price."

"That's the way, Norton!" Bruce exclaimed. "Rising tides lift all boats."

Bruce leaned in and spoke quietly. "Appreciate you putting me in touch with Henri Ducard. I'm meeting him tomorrow in Paris." They shook hands again.

"Of course Bruce," Norton said. "Anything for the Wayne family."

VI) PLACE VENDOME

Selina slept on the night ferry to Paris. She wore her fur coat like a blanket and it fell around the soft curves of her body. At the auction she told Bruce about how much she loved her neighbourhood in Paris. It was near the Luxembourg gardens in the Saint-Germaine-des-Prés, a place where people slept during the day. She was never home. Her girlfriends would stomp up the stairs to her apartment and bang on the door and leave with her laughing. The girls who worked as models would take her shopping on the upscale Rue Saint-Honoré. The girls who danced went to the discotheque and afterparties in luxury apartments overlooking the Seine. The girls who studied at the Sorbonne took her to museums to see barbarian jewelry from the dark ages.

Bruce invited her to travel with him to Paris. When they boarded the evening train he locked their sleeping car and took off her fur coat and pulled down her green dress and put his face between her thighs. The night ferry sailed across the English Channel by moonlight.

The hotel had a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud waiting for them at Gare du Nord which drove them straight to Place Vendome. The morning sunlight made Selina's eyes and diamonds flash and her manicured nails shone among the fine jewels on her fingers. Her earrings were two sapphire scales holding a hollow pearl filled with liquid perfume. The vermilion on her lips made her teeth look whiter. Arriving at the hotel their car circled the Vendome Column which rose above the centre of the square. Bruce and Selina admired it as they stood in the entrance of the Ritz Paris while porters collected their luggage.

"Napoleon based it on Trajan's Column in Rome," Bruce said. "Then the Paris Commune tore it down, but not before they laid a heap of sand at its base to cushion the fall."

"Who knew the French could produce polite revolutionaries?" Selina said.

After they checked into their suite which overlooked a private garden Bruce asked Selina if she wanted to go back to her apartment.

"I slept on the train," Selina replied. "I saw a very nice selection of jewelry stores downstairs."

"Oh, do you have a favourite?" Bruce commented.

"Boucheron," Selina said.

"Let's see if they're open," Bruce said.

As they walked between the display cases of the red carpeted boutique a man entered the shop silently. Bruce turned around and was greeted by Henri Ducard.

"I hear you're wanted on four continents," Bruce said.

"Greed is my province, monsieur," Ducard said, "and it covers the whole earth." He handed him a black floppy disk. "The complete records of the National Data Bank. Hundreds of federal databases collected in one system."

"The personal data of American consumers is a valuable commodity," Bruce said. "Wouldn't want this to fall into the wrong hands."

"I received your guaranteed funds last night," Ducard said.

"What about Nexium?" Bruce asked.

"We have collected specimens from Bayreuth and Xiangxi and Latoon. Which laboratory would you like us to send the test results to?"

"Wayne Enterprises has seventy-three labs around the world. Send a copy to every one."


End file.
